


Not All that Glitters is Gold

by Emilia0001



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilia0001/pseuds/Emilia0001
Summary: When Yuuri shows his pain, it hurts less.(Or -- Five instances over the span of a couple of days that makes the crack in Yuuri's ice shatter all over his lake. Viktor tries to help.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Out of order in a way that makes sense.

**3.**

There’s a hand grabbing around his middle, twisting its wrist and turning his stomach ninety degrees and all that he’s eaten leaves him.

It’s only in his mind, of course, but he vomits anyway. The feeling scolds his core, burns his throat and send sparks of pain through his head and to the space behind his eyes. The feeling’s numbing, similar to the xanax he took years ago but the cheap replica of it. With bigger side effects.

He shouldn’t have been so proud as to stop taking the medication. He shouldn't have stopped taking the prescription. He desperately needs it, about _right now_. Well, the bonus to this is that he’s quickly losing weight. He had been for the longest time, but then like this around competition season it takes a bigger place in his life. It usually did.

Pitchit had found out back in Detroit, of course, but Yuuri wonders what _Viktor_ would say.

The ring on his hand clinks against the ceramics as he presses the handle of the toilet to hide his big fat life of fuck - ups and unjustified self pitying.

_Right._

 

**2.**

The street’s crowded and Yuuri doesn’t know a word of Spanish.

Well, this is stupid.

He shouldn’t have gone out alone. He knew he shouldn't have. He bumps into a middle aged man, who grunts at him before walking on. There’s distant noise from a street musician further down the way he’s heading -- Yuuri can see the mass of people in the distance.

A child’s crying.

A shop alarm goes off.

A young pair’s arguing behind him.

He’s hyper alert. His heart feels content with attention - seeking its way through his head and like everything else, it’s so loud. _So loud._  He fears his eardrums might crack.

He draws a shuddering breath. It sounds like a shriek, it makes spots dance behind his eyelids -- he’s closed them at some point. There’s a thunderstorm between the heels of his palms and shells of his ears that weakens his knees in pure _fear_.

He takes a shaky step forward, stuck in the traffic of shapes and sizes, and zig - zags his way through the crowd. His balance’s off, like in a small boat on an ocean, and the ground shakes with his every step to slam his brain into the inside of his cranium. In this big city, on this main street, all eyes are on him.

He lets out a shudder, a sob. _Ah_ , he realises, _it’s raining again._

_He wonders what Viktor would say if he saw him like this._

 

**1.**

He leans his head on Viktors shoulder. Over the coat, it’s soft and pillowy. His hair is silky, and he burrows his nose into it, enjoying the cinnamon scent.

He lazily takes off his glasses and slips them into the collar of Viktor’s shirt, not really caring. He’s tired, he really is, and the fiddling on his ring makes him doze off. Like a safety blanket.

He hears Viktors soft chuckle, feels the rumbling in his chest where Yuuri’s stuck his hand into a pocket.

“ We’re here, Yuuri. “ He pats his shoulder gently, putting his glasses back on for him, rights them because they’re tilted.

Viktor thanks the taxi driver in bad, basic Spanish he’s learned from a travel lexicon and gently pushes Yuuri with him to the hotel, stepping into the elevator after Yuuri does so.

He loves him. _Oh, he loves him._

He wonders how Viktor would react if he actually _said it._ Just imagine the look on his face.

On second thought, Yuuri would rather not. The future seems bleak, somehow, even with the ring on his limb like a lifebuoy.

 

 

**4.**

He sticks his head in the ground. Digs his own grave. Nails his own coffin. Whatever you’d like, he doesn’t care anymore. He’s done.

 _Yuuri’s done_.

“ After the finals -- “ his voice is too calm, too quiet, too composed. “ -- Let’s end this. “

It should be harder to say. He should feel shaken. Instead he feels some sort of wicked relief wash over him. The only thing that makes him twitch the least is the guilt of not feeling guilty.

_Ah, the irony._

“ Go back to the ice, Viktor. I’ll retire, so don’t feel obligated to stay with me. “

Yuuri hears the coldness in his own voice, latching onto the air like a plague and taking a strangling hold around his neck.

“ Is that what you think? “ Viktor’s voice is low, like the inner monologues in cheap, mass produced dramas.

Yuuri looks at him quizzically.

“ That you’ve forced me to stay here? “ Viktor rests his forearms on his thighs, leaning forward to get a better look at Yuuri’s face.

“ That’s what you said, didn’t you? “

Viktor just kind of stares at him, shaking his head in a loss for words. He looks kind of dumb with his mouth hanging open like that.

“ You said we’d get married if I won gold. “

Yuuri can practically see the cogs turning inside Viktor’s skull. He nods, but  doesn’t know what to make of it.

“ That’s like giving a child more allowance in reward for good behaviour or money to a beggar. “ Yuuri explains, sinking in on himself, hands flattening imaginary wrinkles in his pants. It’s really like scam. Viktor wouldn’t marry him just because of some stupid medal?

“ No, Yuuri -- Go, that’s not what I meant, I -- “

“ It’s still horrible, Viktor. “ he sighs. There’s a foul taste in his mouth. “  I don’t know if you were joking about _the whole thing_ or not, but I don’t want to be engaged on those terms. “ _If we are. It’s no use taking Viktor seriously sometimes._

There are a pair of hands darting forward to clamp around his shoulders. “ No, please listen to me, Yuuri. I never said that the gold or the supposed nonexistence of it was the exclusive reason to _not_ get married. “ Viktor breathes a shuddering breath. “  I just said it’s a good a reason as any _to_ get married. “

Yuuri knows he’s just dragging it out by now. He _knows_ it in his head, but he doesn’t want to accept the contents of Viktor’s words. He’s so attached, so green with jealousy over every look Viktor _doesn’t_ cast his way. He knows his actions are the flight - or - fight response. _He knows_. It’s not natural, but he’s aware.

He just want it to end. He’d rather push than being pushed.

“ Yuuri? “ Viktors hands are in Yuuri’s lap and his knees on the floor in front of him. He’s trying to peek underneath his fringe and behind the frames of his glasses.

A drop flies past the frame of his glasses that are threatening to slide past his nose and lands on one of Viktor’s knuckles. His eyes don’t sting, his lip doesn’t tremble, his shoulders don’t shake, and yet he’s crying. He hadn’t noticed until this moment, and Viktor takes his glasses to drags his thumbs over his lovers brows. Soothing him, drying his tears, guiding him to lean his head forward and onto the top of Viktor’s head.

His body does eventually start trembling, and Viktor draws a hand away from his face to rest at his hips, doing circular motions to calm him down. He notices how Viktor halts, grabs around the sharpness of it, even Yuuri notices his love handles are almost half of what they used to be.

It makes him happy that Viktor’s noticed it, but not nearly enough.

“ Being with you is so much more fun than being on the ice -- but it’s a bonus to _both_ be on the ice. _Together_ . I wouldn’t change _anything._ “

_Viktor had seen right through him._

_“ I love you. “_

 

**5.**

It’s all over.

Yuuri’s so spent.

_Fuck this._

He’d really like to have the Alprazolam back.

Viktor would be so disappointed in him if he could hear his thoughts right now. _If he saw him like this._

_Oh, how wrong he is._

Then here’s a hand on his shoulder, a kiss on the crown of his head and a tugging of his arm to help him away from the toilet he just threw up that nights dinner into.

He slumps on the floor against the wall opposed it, and a cup of water is shoved under his nose. He downs it in one take. He flings it aside effortlessly, burying his head in his knees in a desperate attempt to fuse with the tiles.

“ Love? “ Viktor’s petting gently on his leg, combing one hand through his hair in a tact appropriate to try to match his breathing to. Viktor’s on his knees in front of him, patiently pulling the anxiety out of him in tangles just like he’d do with Yuuri’s uncooperative bangs.

“ I’m so sorry “, Viktor apologises, like it was ever his fault to begin with. Yuuri would have expected him to say _‘ It’ll be alright ‘_ , or something silly like that, but he doesn’t. Viktor’s mumbling nonsense in russian, english and broken japanese of how perfect his fiancée is. He sounds almost solemn, like it’s a speech on a podium, maybe even a bit sentimental. But he’s not angry. Scared, maybe.

Yuuri starts crying. He loves him, he really does. He’s so grateful, he really, really, _really_ is.

He’s got a feeling he never really understood Viktor. _How much he is loved by him._

  
Viktor? _Well, he’s got a long way to go, too._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I just want you to know that ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE. I'm so sorry, the grammar's probably really bad, but I did the best I could on that front :(  
> The quality itself? Well, it would have been horrible in either language cx


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